Malfoy Pan & Granger Darling
by nicolette.l
Summary: In which Narcissa is employed by Hogwarts to teach Family Life, Draco's two-years-old younger brother becomes the littlest student at the school, and Ron befriends a kitchen girl whose name he keeps forgetting. Oh, add in two unwilling time-travelers from the future, one of whom shares some uncanny resemblance to the Prince of Slytherin.


**Chapter One**

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It somehow felt like a strange time to be thinking about it, but Alric had caught murmurs from people who'd had the pleasure—although that was not _always_ the case—of meeting his uncle, commenting that Spencer Malfoy gave them the feeling as if he was looking right into their soul.

Alric suspected it just had something to do with the guy's mismatched eye-colors.

It might also be related to the fact that the guy was able to perform magic wandless, with astonishing control, since he was seven years old.

Said guy was sixteen now, three years older than Alric, and from seven till now had been kept under a close observance by the Ministry of Magic, for fear of growing too powerful as to be uncontrollable.

Alric didn't think there was any need to think that his uncle would ever turn evil. When he wasn't planning elaborate pranks with Fred and George Weasley or throwing some himself on unsuspecting house-servants, Spencer spent his time drinking milk straight from the carton, munching on cookies, or playing the piano with creepy compositions that their manor sounded like some haunted-house-in-the making. Fortunately, Spencer always agreed whenever Alric's mother asked him to come with her to the many charity events she championed—Spencer would wear ridiculous outfits to cheer the kids at the hospitals—and lately Spencer had been busier than usual, conveniently disappearing whenever Alric's grandmother invited some "fair young ladies" and their families over.

Although not as frequent as Alric would like, Malfoy Manor was blissfully peaceful on those times it was able to get rid of Spencer. The guy might turn out to be one of the most powerful wizards sooner or later, but aside from that he was just an annoying oddball.

"The one you should hate, Al, is not my dear brother." said annoying oddball smiled, their gaze locked.

"What do you want?" Alric asked tartly, having his path blocked.

Spencer retreated from the top of the stairs—taking one step down—and raised his left hand in what felt like a slow-mo, palm out toward Alric.

His uncle showed another glimpse of his dimples, famous for charming and breaking the hearts of many.

"The one you should blame, Al, is not your father." Spencer said. "It's me."

A gust of wind slammed forceful into Alric's chest. He inhaled sharply and coughed. A surprised female scream broke out behind him. The floor opened in a wide circle beneath his feet.

"Spencer!" Alric shouted, alarmed as he found himself sucked by a whirlwind into the pit.

His uncle stood at the edge of the wide circle, curiously looking down the pitch-black hole as it swallowed both Alric and the still-screaming female.

"Do not panic! I'm sending you on a vacation, dear nephew!" Spencer yelled back cheerfully, blue and green eyes full of mirth. Then, suddenly looking serious, gaze locked with Alric's, he said, "When Hermione learned Draco was going to die, she told him she wanted a piece of him to stay with her. It is you, Alric—their son." Spencer waved then, with a disarming smile. "Have fun! And try not to kill me when you see me next…!"

* * *

**..~**~..**

* * *

One of the first things Dobby had reported to them, was that they wouldn't have to tickle the pear painted in the portrait to get into Hogwarts' kitchen anymore. Ron had shortly discovered that this was true. The portrait of the bowl of fruit had been replaced by the portrait of a cranky hag. Ron had no idea who the old woman was, and he had no intention of getting to know her. It just so happened that she demanded anyone who wanted to enter the kitchen to present her with a few lines that rhymed. Which was decidedly a whole lot messier than having to tickle a pear.

"All Harry does now is ogle my sister, it makes me want to hit him with a bludger. Hermione got engaged to Malfoy last week, they argue so much I feel meek." well, not really, but it rhymed, so Ron decided it would do. "I'm now single but that's okay, I don't want to mingle and I can play."

The cranky hag in the portrait pursed her lips.

"They didn't deserve even one of my ears' attention, but they did rhyme." she said with clear distaste, and a doorknob appeared.

"I might as well buy a rhyming dictionary this Hogsmeade weekend." Ron murmured, folding the paper on which he had jotted down the three rhyming lines for his entrance pass. The cranky hag squinted sideways at him as he stepped into the kitchen.

Hogwarts had just re-opened about two weeks ago, the war having ended about three months back. There were still signs of leftover from the war here and there—such as the slightly and dangerously tilted Astronomy Tower, which was yet to be fixed—but most structures in Hogwarts had been taken care of and were now at the very least back in a good condition, if not exactly to their original appearance.

"Ron Weasley," one of the elves—Tinderdale—scurried over to Ron as soon as he was noticed amongst the many elves equally scurrying all over the large kitchen.

"Hey," Ron sat down at a table set against the very corner of a wall. The five long tables which were identical to the ones directly above them in the Great Hall were not yet occupied by meals except for the ingredients and apparatus. The clank and clink of pots and pans were everywhere in the kitchen as the elves prepared for dinner. Tinderdale stood in front of Ron, like the elf always did since the first time Ron had stopped by at the kitchen after Hogwarts had re-opened. Harry and Hermione had commented that Tinderdale seemed to have a liking for him—to the point that Ron too doubted, whether the elf actually considered him some sort of an unofficial master. The elf dutifully levitated a tray to the table. Ron knew well now that it would be useless to tell Tinderdale he didn't need to be served, so he let the elf be. "I'm just wandering around, you know. You can go back to your work." he said once the elf finished pouring him a drink.

"If there is anything Ron Weasley would like to eat…?" Tinderdale went on, hands clasped expectantly.

"I'll just grab it myself, thanks."

"Ron Weasley can call on Tinderdale any time."

"Right. I know. Thanks."

With a solemn nod, Tinderdale scurried away to continue on his task. Ron leaned against his chair, skimming the activities busily taking place in the kitchen as he brought his goblet to his mouth. Every smell that wafted in the air was enough to make a full person salivate, but the kitchen was more than just a place to get food now; it had become a bit of his refuge and a place with a nostalgic effect. Back then, he used to sneak in here with Harry and Hermione, but now that the war was over, somehow Ron felt a bit different. Well, obviously things were different now. Like, 360 degrees different. And he could actually be sure that he wasn't the only one to notice.

The engagement between Hermione and Malfoy had surely been made on the base of generosity on Hermione's part—to fulfill the wish of a dying old man; and greed on Malfoy's part—to gobble up the wealth of the dying old man. But Ron wouldn't even blink if one of these days he discovered that the two had tripped on their own set-up.

For starters, since Malfoy had passed out during the friendly Quidditch matches yesterday, later that night Ron and Harry and Ginny and Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson had all invited themselves into the Heads' quarter to check on the Head Boy—even as Malfoy hadn't been too appreciative, lying rather petulantly on the couch. They'd seen that although Hermione had narrowed her eyes and snapped back at each of Malfoy's biting remark, she had also brought him whatever he'd asked for. She'd wiped his temple and frowned as she'd lectured him, and he'd rolled his eyes and drawled, not so nicely, but it had been obvious to those who watched, that the two were _not_ uncomfortable around each other.

A loud gasp broke Ron's soliloquy. He turned to see a black-haired girl staring wide-eyed at him across the room.

"I've never met another human in this kitchen before, much less one of the Golden Trio." the girl said in a whisper.

"Well, then," Ron wiggled his fingers around his goblet. "Hi."

"Hi." the girl whispered, wiggling her own fingers which carried a brown basket. "Oh," she crossed to Ron's table and put down her basket. "Do you want to have a taste?" she removed the handkerchief covering the basket. The smell of fresh-baked cookies and breads assaulted Ron. He meant it when he said the smells in the kitchen were enough to make a full person salivate, and he was a full person—he actually hadn't come here to eat, believe it or not—but the content in the girl's basket was more than tempting. "I made them myself." she smiled as Ron peered inside.

"Looks good." he picked up a curious-looking cookie shaped like a person, wiggling around as it tried to break free. It was about palm-sized, it had red hair and it wore what seemed to be a Gryffindor uniform. Ron had a suspicion that he knew the cookie. "Is this… Me?"

"Yes. I have all three members of the Golden Trio." the girl pointed at the cookies that were supposed to be Harry and Hermione.

"Uh," Ron blinked.

"What?" the girl went back to whispering. "You don't like them?"

"No, just—" he pointed at Harry's cookie. "The lightning bolt scar should be on the other side of his forehead."

The girl blinked. She gazed earnestly at Harry's cookie, frowning deep as the cookie tried to climb out of the basket. Then she nodded.

"I'll remember it next time." she looked at Ron with a smile. "Thank you."

Ron shrugged, and took a bite of his cookie's left arm.

* * *

**..~**~..**

* * *

"Hey Drake, did you see Ron?"

Draco whipped his head around to throw an acidic glare at Potter. The raven-haired boy grinned.

"I've told you seven hundred times over—"

"Don't call you Drake," Potter nodded and nodded and nodded, but Draco knew it was just an imitation of a doll with a broken neck. He had lost all effects on Potter the day he'd "saved" the raven-haired boy. "I don't get the favoritism. Zabini calls you Drake," Potter said as he trudged alongside Draco.

"I never gave him any permission."

"Means he doesn't need one, then I'll do the same."

"_You're_—"

"Aggravating. I know. You've told me seven hundred times over." Potter had the audacity to smirk. "But you saved my life—bear the consequences."

"Just shut up. And don't follow me around."

"I'm looking for Ron."

"But I'm _not_."

"You're looking for your fiancée? She's building Lego castle with Spencer, Ginny, and Parkinson in our common room."

"I'm _not_ looking for Granger."

"Where are you going then? What you're gonna do? Can I join?"

"Potter, I swear—"

Potter laughed.

"Alright, I'll go away." he chuckled. "I've developed a hobby of pestering you, that's all."

"I _noticed_."

"Ever regret saving my life back then?"

"Seven hundred times over." Draco gritted, but Potter simply grinned.

"Don't tire yourself now. Aunt Cissy told me to keep an eye on you." Potter proceeded to say, and Draco nearly tore at his own hair. _Aunt Cissy!_ Potter chuckled at the look on his face. "Just kidding. I've got permission, but I don't plan to call Mrs Malfoy that yet." Potter chuckled some more. "See ya, Drake."

Who would've expected, that the consequence of saving Harry-buggering-Potter's life would involve such a colossal impairment to your sanity? The cost for the downfall of Voldemort.

As the raven-haired boy sauntered cheerfully away, Draco considered hexing Potter into oblivion, but with every fiber and ounce of his self-restraint, decided against it. He had a more pressing matter at hand. He needed to go kill his valet.

Draco shoved his hand into his pocket, taking out the message his mother had left him this morning. The handwritten note on the cute little card was notably suspicious.

_Dear Draco,_

_Don't forget to take your medications on time (I have asked Hermione to remind you), don't strain yourself by doing too much (I will not hear of you playing Quidditch again, please, we have talked about this, honey, I know it is your last year in Hogwarts but you are not yet fit enough, yesterday was all the fall I needed to see from you), and remember to eat properly._

_PS: Your father is telling you to stay out of trouble._

_PPS: On Spencer's insistence, Howard and him are staying with you in Hogwarts for a time, although I believe Spencer will be in the company of the ladies today. I have sent Howard to pick up the pair of rings that are to be yours and Hermione's. By the by, do you know that Howard is going to be signed as the new DADA professor, Draco?_

_Love Always,_

_Mother_

_PPPS: Your father is telling you not to have any intention of injuring Howard._

Draco shoved the cute little card back into his pocket, eyes narrowed. He could always claim to have missed the PPPS later.

* * *

**..~**~..**

* * *

For as long as Felicia could remember, there were rumors that seemed to recycle and return and repeat themselves every now and then about The Malfoys.

According to whispers and murmurs within the nobilities' circle, the eldest son of Lucius and Narcissa had never actually married Hermione Granger. That about fourteen years back, Draco had died _before_ the date of his expected wedding to the brunette Muggleborn witch.

Which, given that it was true, would make Alric Malfoy a child born _outside_ of wedlock.

Nobody in the public had ever dared question the possibility out-loud, of course, and Alric Malfoy remained the favorite only grandson to both Lucius and Narcissa, the first Halfblood in his aristocratic family's otherwise Pureblood heritage.

Despite being in the same year and sharing classrooms for several subjects each week, Felicia had never spoken to Alric–safe to say, he did not even know of her existence–and unlike most girls in Hogwarts and society, Felicia had never taken it as an interest to change the situation.

"Are you going to remove yourself from me, or am I going to have to do it for you?" dripping with sarcasm, Alric's voice cut across Felicia's train of thought. She scrambled from where she'd landed on him. "Why would that crazy guy send me here?" Alric asked, although the question seemed to be posed to no one in particular.

Here, turned out to be Hogwarts from the looks of it. Portraits lined the walls of the corridor, some familiar, some not. The occupants in the frames stared down at Alric and Felicia, several eyebrows quirking. None made any remarks, but it was evident the abrupt appearance of two teenagers from mid-air was perplexing them.

Alric dusted off his shirt and shorts. Felicia distractedly pushed away some strands of hair that had fallen loose around her face. It was almost too quiet. There was a feeling of off reality, as if they were not quite in the school that they attended.

Alric rose and stood inspecting the corridor. Discounting the portraits that watched them, it seemed they were the only ones around at the moment. Wondering and apprehensive, Felicia was still seated on the stone floor where they'd ended up after falling through the pitch-black hole Spencer Malfoy had conjured.

This turn of event could have been more surprising, but if the eldest son Draco had been dubbed as "Saviour of the Saviour" for saving Harry Potter in the last battle of the Great War, the second son of Lucius and Narcissa was a widely recognized child prodigy. One of the many famous incidents regarding Spencer Malfoy, was how he'd once nearly burnt down the Ministry of Magic at five. He was now sixteen, three years older than his nephew Alric and Felicia, and his reputation as a magnet for troubles had only intensified since then.

Alric cursed. Felicia looked up at him wide-eyed.

"W-what is it, Master Alric?"

He turned to frown at her. She averted her eyes.

"You one of the servant girls?" he asked.

"Yes."

"A new one?"

"I… You haven't noticed me probably because I never did much as a maidservant, Master. Mistress Hermione insists that a girl my age should be studying—" and enjoying life, but Felicia held her tongue on that one. "—Mistress doesn't allow me to work in the manor, except once in a while, when there is a formal gathering that can use more hands."

"Wouldn't have happened if she quits being too goody and keeps using house-elves." Alric muttered. He turned and started walking.

Nervously, Felicia rose and fell into step behind him. Several times in a day, students of Hogwarts had seen Teddy Lupin switch back and forth as a boy with black hair one second and red hair the next, but still Felicia watched in silent fascination when Alric Malfoy's hair changed color—from soft blond to reddish-brown. He turned to glance wordlessly at her, as if to check whether she had any comment. She saw that his eyes had also lost their gray color, now chocolate brown.

Only then realizing they were face to face, Felicia ducked her head and blinked down at the stone floor. People knew he was a Metamorphmagus, and because of his family people knew who he was whether he wanted them to or not, but he still seemed to make an effort to keep as low a profile as he could, compared to his three friends that were James Potter, Ethan Weasley and Uriel Zabini.

He turned his attention from Felicia back to the front.

"You in Hogwarts, too?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What year?"

"Yours."

"Really. Which House?"

"Slytherin."

Alric paused, then he whirled around. He scanned Felicia from the top of her head to the bottom of her shoes. She had always found Spencer Malfoy's mismatched eye-color—green and blue—disconcerting, but the way Alric Malfoy stared expressionlessly at her now, proved to be more intimidating.

"You're in my Uncle's House." he said.

"Y-yes."

"I've seen you with him." he noted, with a look on his face as if he was remembering every suspicious detail. "You were that girl he danced with at yesterday's ball."

"Y-yes…"

"You played Seeker last match against my House."

Felicia wished for the ground to swallow her whole.

"R-Ravenclaw won." she said in a tiny voice.

Alric ignored it. He continued walking, and Felicia followed with heavy steps.

"Are you Spencer's girlfriend?" he spoke again after a while, his voice taking a tone that was completely devoid of emotions. Stiff, Felicia shook her head vehemently. He turned his attention back to the front, but not before she caught the slow smirk that spread across his face. "Prince of Slytherin and his servant girl." he drawled, snorting. "I'd say you were good in last match. But I was better." he deadpanned.

Unable to hold back a frown, Felicia nibbled on her lower lip. She was grateful to her mistress to be given so many chances, but while Hermione Malfoy was a kind woman, her son was a different matter. For three years Felicia had done her best to avoid from being recognized in Hogwarts. Now thanks to Spencer Malfoy, she couldn't help but develop an amount of concern for herself.

They turned into a corner. By then Felicia was merely following Alric's lead and no longer focusing on directions. She bumped into him as he stopped walking. He didn't comment, and she looked up to see that they were standing in front of the prefectorial board.

It was only then that Felicia realized what Alric might have had some moments ago when he'd cursed.

Head Boy: Draco Malfoy

Head Girl: Hermione Granger

There was a picture of each on top of their name, depicting the image of Felicia's dead master and her living mistress—except for the obvious fact that during this time, they were not yet husband and wife. The year printed in bold across the prefectorial board dispelled any remaining doubts.

Felicia's throat went dry. She could almost feel all colors drain from her face.

"H-have we… D-did we get sent back to the past?" she breathed.

There was only silence for a time. Then vacantly, Alric said,

"I'm going to kill a baby."

.

.

* * *

**Author's Note**: A few days ago I bought a comic biography of J.K. Rowling (it is a series of biographies on inspiring figures and marketed for children, but I am a child and will always be one-at heart). Reading it and savoring it, my love for Harry Potter series reignited (not that it'd ever died). ::happy sighs:: That said, do tell me what you think of this, thank you (:


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